港 minato—harbour

Dale and Peter are an Australian couple living in Osaka, and like me they enjoy getting out and about, exploring the lesser-known parts of the city, and discovering interesting things. They contacted me through this blog and invited me to join them on a cycling tour around the harbour area.

Osaka Harbour is a fascinating place, not least for the astonishing scale of the bridges that link the various islands that have been reclaimed from the sea (a process that is still continuing). Anywhere else, any one of these bridges would be considered an engineering marvel.

I discovered you can rent a bicycle for the day from Sakai City’s tourist information office. They have a great range of different styles of bike to choose from, and I chose this sporty model:

The rental is amazingly cheap – only 300 yen for one day (from 9:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.), and Sunday was an “eco-promotion day”, so I only paid 240 yen!

After picking up the bike, I set off and met Dale and Peter, and their Japanese friend Yunori, at one of the Yamato River bridges. All three of them had neat folding bikes that you can take on the train.

We set off in the chilly sunshine of a February Sunday morning. On our way through Suminoe ward, we passed this warehouse full of Konan pallets.

Soon we came to the first of the day’s big bridges, Shinkizugawa bridge. Linking Suminoe and Taisho wards, it is a balanced arch bridge, the longest of its kind in Japan.

Here’s the view from the midpoint, looking east towards Tennoji, and onward to Ikoma mountain:

The best thing about this bridge was the descent at the other end. A spiral loop that descends through 3 full circles. 1080 degrees of freewheeling, like a theme park ride. Check out the spectacular ugliness of the Nakayama steel works on the other side!

Cycling through Taisho ward, we came across these structures. In Ireland we used to call them “gasometers” – their purpose was to maintain the pressure in the city gas system. I love the delicate beauty of the metal tracery.

After passing IKEA, the next big bridge was Namihaya o-hashi. This amazing structure is 1573 metres (1 mile) long and sweeps around in a curve along its length. This picture (not mine – I got it from Wikipedia Commons) gives some idea of how impressive it is (and how high, if you are cycling up!)

It’s quite a long hard slog to the top.

(You can see IKEA at the foot of the bridge).

But it’s totally worth it once you reach the peak, catch your breath, and take in the amazing views all around.

This beautiful rib arch bridge is Chitose-bashi.

This red cantilevered steel-truss bridge, Minato-bashi, is one of my favourites. It spans the main entrance to Osaka port, and carries two car decks; the Hanshin expressway on top and a non-toll road underneath.

Arriving in Minato ward, we found these old red-brick warehouses of the Sumitomo company.

Looking south across the water we could see these giant cranes and the World Trade Center, the (joint) highest building in Osaka.

As well as having the lowest mountain in Japan, Tempozan is also home to Osaka’s aquarium and this giant Ferris Wheel.

For the next water crossing, there is no bridge. But there is an Osaka city ferry (one of 8 in the harbour area) which carries pedestrians and bicycles free of charge.

(My more observant readers may notice that there is in fact a bridge overhead, but it is the Hanshin Expressway and not accessible to cyclists.)

Our intended destination was Yumejima (dream island), the most recently completed of Osaka’s artificial islands. (There is at least one more under construction. I imagine that if Osaka and Kobe continue to expand out into the bay, the two cities will eventually meet in the middle, with only shipping channels kept open to allow access to their ports.)

However, time was running short; I had to return the bike to Sakai tourist office by 4:30, so we didn’t make it to Yumejima this time. And, truth to tell, it probably isn’t such an interesting place in reality (despite its appealing name). Judging by this photo it’s just one big container terminal.

Instead, Maishima was our last port of call. The bridge to Maishima, Konohana o-hashi, is quite unusual; it is a suspension bridge with a single central main cable.

This is the cyclist and pedestrian access to the bridge:

Remember this place?

All in all, I cycled 54 kilometres and really enjoyed the day. Thanks to Peter, Dale and Yunori for the day out, for all the planning and the good company!

山 yama—mountain

天保山　Tenpozan is the lowest mountain in Japan. And that’s official.

 

At 4.53 metres above sea level (hey, every centimetre counts!) it is undeniably low. You don’t need to worry about altitude sickness, when standing at the summit of Tenpozan. The picture shows a cartoon representation of the mountain, wearing a sash saying “日本一低い山”—Japan’s lowest mountain— and looking very pleased with this honour.

On the other hand, you may object, how exactly does it qualify as a mountain? Well, the answer is, I don’t know. But we climbed it today, and we were issued with a certificate to prove it. Just like Fuji, various routes to the summit are shown.

 

I say “climbed” but it was really more of a stroll than an ascent. Arriving at the summit, we found a stone trig point marker embedded in the pavement:

We also found a wooden summit marker and a metal sign from which the writing had all faded away over the years.

There is also a monument from the 1920s commemorating the creation of the island some 60 years before:

and nearby a statue of a Mr Nishimura who was involved in the development of the harbour area in the early Meiji era; a study in Confucian serenity amid cherry trees and black pine. In Japan, black pine trees are traditionally an important aspect of beach-front scenery.

Tenpozan is in the harbour area of Osaka. The whole area is interesting to me because it has been steadily reclaimed from the sea. This island was originally created in the Meiji era using material dredged from the Aji River. Further islands continue to be created, including Maishima (featured in an earlier blog post), Sakishima (home to Osaka’s tallest building, the World Trade Centre), Yumejima, and an island-in-progress, so far known only as “New Island”.

Kobe city, to the west, is engaged in similar development, and you can almost imagine as both cities continue to extend their tendrils into the bay, Osaka Bay will eventually fill up with land and the two cities meet in the middle, leaving only channels wide enough for shipping to access the (now inland) ports.

While the most obvious reason for building new islands is to create new land, in a country where space (especially flat space you can build on) is scarce and valuable, the more immediate reason is a little more prosaic and unlovely: garbage disposal.

Each of the islands starts out as a wall enclosing an area of sea. (Two examples are visible in the Google Earth image above.) Over the next 15 years, this area gets filled up with the city’s building rubble, dredged material and household waste. Finally, it is ready to be landscaped and becomes a new town where people can live, work and play.

A wonderful side-effect of the profileration of artificial islands is the many spectacular bridges that now link them, on a scale that would take your breath away, each one of them both a thing of beauty and a triumph of engineering.

The islands are low-lying, which puts them at risk of flooding if a tsunami comes up the bay. Protective walls have been constructed enclosing the built-up areas, with heavy steel gates that close in the event of a tsunami warning.

Here we see gates 11 and 12. If a tsunami came, the area outside (the park) would be unprotected. There are signs in several languages, saying “In the event of a strong earthquake, please immediately head for the area within dikes!” Just in case you were not inclined to take this warning seriously, the sign includes a picture of a person running with a wave lapping at their heels.

Tenpozan is not the only very low mountain in Japan, or even in our local area. In Sakai’s Ohama Park, we have Sotetsu-yama, which also claims to be the lowest mountain in Japan. At 6.9 metres, it is considerably higher than Tenpozan, so it must be pinning its claim on a definition of the word “mountain” that disqualifies Tenpozan. Just to be on the safe side, we have climbed Sotetsu-yama also, and are in receipt of a certificate issued by the local shrine.

And in our own local park, where I take the dogs for a walk every morning, there is this summit marker at the top of  双子山　futago-yama (Twin Mountain), all of 33.3 metres high.

Next week, we will be making our third attempt to climb Japan’s highest mountain, 3,776 metres high. But for now we can at least say that we have conquered the lowest.

Note on the word of the day:

低い　hikui—low is the opposite of 高い　takai—high. Just as 最高　saikou (literally, “highest”) is used metaphorically to mean “great”, “the best”; so also 最低　saitei (literally, “lowest”) is used with a metaphorical meaning to condemn someone’s behaviour as being contemptible.